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O'er glories gonc thc invaders march,
Would that I were cold with those, Weeps triumph o'er each levell’d arch
Since this hour I live to see; But let Freedom rejoice,
When the doubts of coward toes With her heart in her voice;.
Scarce dare trust a man with thet, Put her dand on her sword,
Dreading each should set thee free. Doubly shall she be adored ;
Oh! although in dungeons pent, France hath twice too well been taught
All their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent,
Would the sycophants of him
Now so deaf u duty's prayer, Hearts and hands in one great cause
Were his borrow'd glories dim, Freedom, such as God hath given
In his native darkness share ? Unto a!l bencath his beaven,
Were that world this hour his own, With their breath, and from their birth,
All thou calmly dost resign,
Hearts like those which still are thine ?
My chief, my king, my friend, adieu !
Never did I droop before; In imperial seas of slaughter!
Never to my sovereign sue, But the heart ar the mind,
As his foes I now implore, And the voice of mankind,
All I ask is to divide Shall arise in communion
Every peril he must brave, And who shall resist that proud union ?
Sharing by the hero's side
His fall, his exile, and his grave.
ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR Millions breathe but to inherit
(FROM THE FRENCH.) Her for-ever bounding spirit When once more her hosts assemble,
Star of the brave!- whose beam hath shed Tyrants shall bclicve and tremble
Such glory o'er the quick and deadSmile they at this idle threat ?
Thou radiant and adored deceit!
Which millions rush'd in arms to greet,
Why rise in heaven to set on earth ?
Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays; AH wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who Eternity flash'd through thy blaze! had been exalted from the ranks by Buona parte. He clung The music of thy martial sphere to his master's knces; Wiole a letter to Lord Keith, entrcat- Was fame on high and honour here; ing permission to accompany him, even in the most menial
And thy light broke on human eyes capacity, which could not be adınitted."
Like a volcano of the skics.
Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood,
And swept down empircs with its flood;
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base,
As thou didst lighten through all space;
And the shorn sun grew dim in air,
And set while thou wert dwelling there.
Before thee rose, and with thcc grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest huc,
or three bright colours,' each divine, Many could a world control :
And fit for that celestial sign;
For freedom's hand had blended them
Like tints in an immortal gem.
One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes ;
One, the blue depth of seraphs' eyes;
Onc, the pure spirit's veil of white | "At Waterloo, one man was seen, whose left arm was shat- Had robed in radiance of its light; ered by a cannon-ball, lo wrench it off with the other, and, The three so mingled did besccm shrowing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades. Vive
The texture of a heavenly dream. 'Empereur jusqu'à la mort. There were many other instances of the like; this you mav, however, depend on as que A private Lelter from Brussels.
1 The tri-colour.
Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THE
PLEASURES OF MEMORY.”
Absent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong !
As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn, thy converse and thy song.
But when the dreaded hour shall come,
By friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
And “ MEMORY” o'er her Druid's tomb
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,
How fondly will she then repay
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine,
And blend, while ages roll away,
Her name immortally with thine !
April 19, 1812.
STANZAS TO ***
And the star of my fate hath declined,
The faults which so many could find;
It shrunk not to share it with me, I have coped with the nations which dread me thus And the love which my spirit hath painted lonely,
It never hath found but in thee. The last single captive to millions in war!
Then when nature around me is smiling Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crown'd me, The last smile which arswers to mine, I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,
I do not believe it beguiling,
And when winds are at war with the ocean, Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
As the breasts I believed in with me,
Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, Farewell to thee, France !—but when liberty rallies
And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Once more in thy regions, remember me then
Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
To pain-it shall not be its slave. Though wither'd, thy tears will unfold it again :
There is many a pang to pursue me: Yet, yet I may baMe the hosts that surround us,
They may crush, but they shall not contemnAnd yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice- They may torture, but shall not subdue meThere are links which must break in the chain that has 'Tis of thee that I think not of them. bound us,
Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake,
Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake,-
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, ROUSSEAU_Voltaire-our Gibbon—and de Stael
Though parted, it was not to fly, Leman!' these names are worthy of thy shore,
Though watchful, 't was not to defame me, Thy shore of names like these; wert thou no more,
Nor mute, that the world might belie. Their memory thy remembrance would recall:
Yet I blame not the world, nor Jespise it, To them thy banks were lovely as to all ;
Nor the war of the many with oneBut they have made them lovelier, for the lore
If my soul was not fitted to prize it, Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core
'T was folly not sooner to shun. Of human hearts the ruin of a wall
And if dearly that error hath cost me, Where dwelt the wise and wond'rous; but by thee And more than I once could foresee, How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,
I have found that, whatever it lost me,
It could not deprive me of thee.
From the wreck of the past, which hath perish' Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real !
Thus much I at least may recall,
It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd 1. Geneva, Ferney, Coppet, Lausanne.
Deserved to be dearest of all:
A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED.
In the desert a fountain is springing,
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Each others' aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and diedDid wander darkling in the eternal space,
Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written fiend. The world was void, Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air ; Morn came, and went—and came, and brought no day. The populous and the powerful was a lump, And men forgot their passions in the dread
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifelessOt this their desolation; and all hearts
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay. Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still, Ard they did live by watch-fires—and the thrones,
And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp, Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed,
They slept on the abyss without a surgeAnd men were gather'd round their blazing homes
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, To look once more into each other's face:
The moon their mistress had expired before ;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, Happy were those who dwelt within the eye of the volcanos and their mountain-torch:
And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need
Of aid from them- she was the universe.
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down
The comet of a season, and I saw And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
With not the less of sorrow than of awe And others hurried to and fro, and fed
On that neglected turf and quiet stone, Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With name no clearer than the names unknown, With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
Which say unread around it; and I ask'd The pall of a past world; and then again
The gardener of that ground, why it might be With curses cast them down upon the dust,
That for this plant strangers his memory task'd And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds Through the thick deaths of half a century; shriek’d,
And thus he answer'd—“Well, I do not know And, terrified, did futter on the ground,
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so; And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
He died before my day of sextonship, Caine came and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And I had not the digging of this grave." And twined themselves among the multitude,
And is this all? I thought,--and do we rip Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for tood:
"The veil of immortality, and crave And war, which for a moment was no more.
I know not what of honour and of light Did glut himself again-a meal was bought
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight? With blood, and each sate sullenly apart,
So soon and so successless ? As I said, Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
The architect of all on which we tread, All earth was bat one thoughı—and that was death,
For earth is but a tombstone, did essay Immediate and irglorious; and the pang
To extricate remembrance from the clay, of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thouge Diea, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
Were it not that all life niust end in one, The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Of which we are but dreamers ;--as he caught Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
As 't were the twilight of a former sun, And he was faithful to a corse and kept
Thus spoke he,—- I believe the man of whom The birds and beasts and famısh'd men at bay,
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb, T! hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Was a most famous writer in his day, Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
And therefore travellers step from out their way But with a piteous and perpetual moan
To pay him honour,-and myself whate'er And a quck desolate cry, licking the hand
Your honour pleases"—then most pleased I shook W nich answer'd not with a caress-he died.
From out my pocket's avaricious ncok The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Some certain coins of silver, which as 't were of an enormous city did survive,
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare And :hev were enemies; they met beside
So much but inconveniently ;-ye smile, f'he dying embers of an altar-place,
I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while,
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
firm will, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry Its own concentred recompense,
Triumphant where it dares defy,
On shame to thee, land of the Gaui!
Oh shame to thy children and thee !
How wretched thy portion shall be !
A mockery that never shall die ;
Shall burden the winds of thy sky;
The spirit that breathed in thy dead, When gallantry's star was the beacon before,
And honour the passion that led ? Thy storms have awaken'd their sleep,
They groan from the place of their rest, And wrathfully murmur, and sullenly weep,
To see the foul stain on thy breast; For where is the glory they left thee in trust? 'Tis scatter'd in darkness, 'l is trampled in dust !
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Which speaks but in its loneliness,
Until its voice is echoless.
Between the suffering and the will,
Which torture where they cannot kill ;
Was thine-and thou hast borne it well.
But would not to appease him tell:
To render with thy precepts less
The sum of human wretchedness,
In the endurance, and repulse of thine impenetrable spirit,
Which earth and heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit :
Thou art a symbol and a sign
Like thee, man is i part divine,
Go, look to the kingdoms of earth,
From Indus all round to the pole,
Shall brighten the sins of the soul.
The world cannot liken thee there;
Beyond the low reach of compare ; Stupendous in guilt, thou shalt lend us through timo A proverb, a by-word, for treachery and crime! While conquest illumined his sword,
While yet in his prowess he stood,
And welcomed the torrent of blood :
And wither'd the nations afar,
Till fortune deserted his car ; Then back from the chieftain thou slunkest away, The foremost to insult, the first to betray! Forgot were the feats he had done,
The toils he had borne in thy cause • Thuu turned'st to worship a new rising sun,
And waft other songs of applause. But the storm was beginning to lour,
Adversity clouded his beam; And honour and faith were the brag of an hour,
And loyalty's self but a dream :To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows were restored, And the first that had scoff?d were the first that ailored. What tumult thus burthens the air ?
What throng thus encircles his throne ?
I is the shout of delight, 't is the millions that swear Next—for some gracious service unexy.cest,
And from its wages only to be guess'd
Raised from the toilet to the table, where
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair :
How quenchless the spirit and flame She dines from off the plate she lately wası l. That Frenchmen will breathe, when their hearts Quick with the tale, and ready with the ic', are on fire,
The genial confidante and general spy ; For the hero they love, and the chief they admire! Who could, ye gods! her next employment : less ?
An only infant's earliesi Their hero has rush'd to the field;
She taught the child to read, and taught so well, His laurels are cover'd with shade
That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to speia But where is the spirit that never should yield,
An adept next in penmanship she grows,
As many a nameless slander deftly showe:
What she had made the pupil of her art,
And panted for the truth it could not hear,
With longing breast and undeluded ear.
Which Aattery fool'd not, baseness could nou blind, Is nobler and better than thou ;
Deceit infect not, near contagion soil,
Indulgence weaken, nor example spoil,
Nor master'd science tempt her to look down If thou wert ihe place of my birth,
On humbler talents with a pitying frown,
Nor genius swell, nor beauty render vain,
Nor envy ruffle to retaliate pain,
Nor fortune change, pride raise, nor passion bow,
Nor virtue teach austerity-till now.
But wanting one sweet weakness—to forgive; Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul!
Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know, Oh, shame to thy children and thee! She deems that all could be like her below: Crwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, Foe to all vice, yet hardly virtue's friend How wretched thy portion shall be !
For virtue pardons those she would amend. Derision shall strike thee forlorn,
But to the theme-now laid aside too long,
The baleful burthen of this honest song-
Though all her former functions are no more,
She rules the circle which she served before. And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurl'd
If mothers--none know why-before her quake, The laughter of triumph, the jeers of the world!
If daughters dread her for the mother's sake;
At times, the loftiest to the moanest mind-
Have given her power too deeply to instil
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls; Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, If like a viper to the heart she wind, By headless Charles, see heartless Henry lies; And leave the verom there she did not find; Between them stands another sceptred thing- What marvel that his hag of hatred works It moves, it reigns—in all but name, a king : Eternal evil latent as she lurks, Charles to his people, Henry to his wife- To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, In him the double tyrant starts to life:
And reign the Hecate of domestic hells ! Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain,
Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints,
With all the kind mendacity of hints,
A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,
To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd scheming;
And, without feeling, mock at all who feel;
SHAKSPEARE. A cheek of parchment, and an eye of stone. Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Mark how the channels of her yellow blood Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head; Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mun